Dining

The royal dining hall of Maegor's Hold.

The midday sun streamed through the tall arched windows, casting patches of light and shadow across the parquet floor.

In the dining hall, on the vaulted ceiling, the mural depicted the Targaryen ancestor Aegon the Conqueror wielding Blackfyre, with his two queens, his sister Visenya and his sister Rhaenys, standing at his sides.

The long table was covered in white linen, the silver candlesticks polished to a gleam, and even in daylight, several honey-scented candles were lit, releasing a delicate fragrance.

On the fine porcelain plates, roasted lamb chops glistened with an enticing golden sheen, accompanied by slow-braised onions and mushrooms, all drenched in a thick gravy.

Summer Red from the Riverlands rippled in crystal goblets, its color like a gemstone.

Queen Alicent sat at the head of the table, dressed in a deep green velvet gown. The hem was embroidered with the lighthouse sigil of House Hightower in silver thread, and the neckline was adorned with fine pearls.

Nearly half a moon had passed since her return from Tidepool Island, yet the dark circles under her eyes had not faded.

Now, the silver fork in her hand hovered in midair, and only after a long moment did she gently push at the food on her plate.

The tender lamb had been cut into neat, uniform pieces, coated with honey and crushed almonds—one of her favorite dishes on ordinary days.

But today, she had no appetite.

"Aegon..." Alicent suddenly spoke, letting out a sigh.

"I wonder if he's eating well on Tidepool Island. The sea breeze there is damp and cold..."

She paused. Every day, she repeated these pointless worries.

Helaena, seated to her right, set down her spoon. The girl wore a simple white linen dress today, her silver-gold hair loosely braided into two plaits that hung before her shoulders. Sunlight caught in her hair, giving it a pearlescent sheen.

She reached out and covered her mother's hand, offering comfort.

"Mother, my brother will take care of himself."

"Aunt Rhaenys swore she would treat Aegon like her own son."

"Swore..." Alicent gave a bitter smile, gripping her daughter's warm hand in return.

"Helaena, my good daughter, you are always so kind, always willing to believe in people's good hearts."

"I trust Rhaenys. I trust her character."

"But I will not trust certain others..."

She lifted her head, her gaze falling on her second son to the left.

Aemond was eating with focus. Cutting a piece of meat, bringing it to his mouth, chewing, swallowing.

The sunlight gilded his silver-gold hair with a light gold sheen.

Compared to half a moon ago, when he had just returned from Tidepool Island, his complexion was much better.

Color had returned to his cheeks, his frame seemed to have grown taller, and his originally well-fitting black velvet tunic was now slightly tight across the shoulders.

It seemed she would have to make her son a new set of clothes.

Alicent mused to herself.

"Aemond," Alicent called out.

"Ser Cole said that for the past half moon, you've been going to the training yard before dawn."

"Don't push yourself so hard. Maester Meuros says overtraining can damage the bones and sinews. You're still young, your body is still growing..."

Aemond set down his knife and fork, looked up at his mother, and the corners of his mouth lifted slightly.

"I'm fine, Mother."

"My body grows stronger every day. Ser Cole says my swordsmanship is improving quickly."

Looking at the confident Aemond, Alicent was momentarily stunned.

"That's good."

She recalled her conversation with her father Otto the night before.

Father had spoken of Aemond with praise—he was calmer, more calculating, and knew better what he wanted.

The future of the Greens would likely fall on his shoulders.

If they were to push Aegon onto the Iron Throne, they would need Aemond all the more, and the Vhagar he commanded.

Just as when Viserys had succeeded and Daemon had supported his brother.

Her gaze swept over the seat Aemond occupied, which had once been her eldest son Aegon's.

Her firstborn was held hostage on Tidepool Island, her daughter forced into betrothal to Rhaenyra's bastard...

Her heart clenched in pain, and the faint appetite she had mustered vanished.

After a long silence, Alicent murmured as if to herself: "She hates me... She must hate me to death."

Aemond glanced up, knowing his mother's complaints had started again, her self-pity.

He lowered his head, continuing to cut his meat, his face utterly expressionless.

"I once loved her, like a true sister." Alicent's voice drifted, ethereal.

"Mother..." Helaena's eyes also glistened with tears. Her simple world could not yet comprehend such complex love and hate.

But she could feel the pain in her mother's words.

Aemond set down his knife and fork, picked up his napkin, and wiped the corner of his mouth, his movements unhurried.

Alicent had chosen this path, and today's predicament was sealed from the start.

She craved power—otherwise she would not have agreed to her father Otto's maneuvering of her marriage to the King, nor actively fought for her son's inheritance after becoming Queen—yet she was bound by morality and emotion.

Indecisive. Weak-willed. Aemond made his judgment in his heart.

She wanted her son to contend for the Iron Throne, yet wished for clean hands. She saw Rhaenyra as a threat, yet clung to memories of their sisterly bond...

He found it speechless, but he had no choice. Alicent had always been good to him.

In his heart, he truly regarded her as his mother.

"Let's eat, Mother," Aemond finally said, picking up his knife and fork again.

"The food will get cold. You haven't eaten properly these past days; the Archmaester is worried about your health."

Alicent nodded, stopped her complaints, and forced a smile onto her face.

She lifted her crystal goblet and took a small sip of Summer Red.

Just then, the oak door to the dining hall was gently pushed open.

A maidservant entered, carrying a silver tray.

It was the after-dinner dessert.

She was about fifteen or sixteen, her figure already showing grace. Her light brown hair was elaborately braided into a complex Hightower Braid at the back of her head, adorned with a few tiny pearls.

She was quite beautiful—high cheekbones, a straight nose, large bright blue eyes with long lashes, and full lips painted with a faint rose rouge, like petals just beginning to bloom.

She wore the standard light green fine linen dress of House Hightower's maidservants, cinched at the waist with a silver chain, making her waist seem impossibly slender.

But upon closer look, her neckline was cut an inch lower than regulation, revealing a stretch of pale neck and a hint of collarbone.

"Your Majesty, this is the dessert," the maidservant said, her voice sweet as honey.

She stepped gracefully to Alicent's side, bending her knees in a slight curtsy.

On the tray was a dish of jelly topped with cream and jam.

As she set down the tray, the maidservant's right hand trembled almost imperceptibly.

She deliberately tilted the silver platter at a subtle angle.

The porcelain dish holding the jelly slid toward the edge of the table, about to fall to the floor.

"Oh!" the maidservant let out a perfectly timed gasp.

She fumbled to catch the dish, but lost her balance, her whole body toppling toward Aemond's direction.

Her blue eyes were wide, her lips slightly parted—a look of shock, and also shyness.

She had calculated the angle. Her fall was aimed straight at Aemond's chair. Her right hand would inadvertently brace against the armrest.

Her face would lift, meeting Aemond's lowered gaze, close enough to feel each other's breath.

A perfect accident.

A perfect encounter.

But.

Aemond didn't even look up.

He continued cutting the meat on his plate with his knife and fork, as if what was happening before him was nothing but trivial noise.

When the maidservant's hand was about to touch him, his left arm drew inward half an inch, precisely avoiding the unintended contact.

Slap.

Her hand hit the hard armrest of the chair, her knuckles aching from the impact.

She bit her lower lip to stifle a cry of pain, lifted her head, and her blue eyes quickly welled up with a layer of tears, the picture of a pitiful, startled doe.

"I—I'm so sorry, Prince Aemond!" Her voice trembled with panic and self-reproach. "I'm so clumsy... Please, please forgive my carelessness..."

She held her half-fallen pose, her neckline gaping wider from the lean, her fair skin gleaming in the sunlight.

She curtsied again, this time bending especially deep, nearly kneeling to the floor.

Another chance to display her graceful figure.

The dining hall fell into a brief silence.

The Queen frowned, scrutinizing the maidservant.

Helaena blinked in confusion, as if she couldn't understand why someone falling could be so... elegant?

Aemond finally looked up at the maidservant.

"What is your name?" Aemond asked.